


A Helping Hand

by xenospider



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Peter, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Intersex Wade, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Omega Wade, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenospider/pseuds/xenospider
Summary: Deadpool is going into heat, and he's just lost all his suppressants. To top it off, Paste Pot Pete blew up his favorite pharmacy. Spider-Man shows up as he's chasing the villain, but they end up glued together. (Thanks to Deadpool wrecking Paste Pot's equipment.) Deadpool has the chemicals Spidey needs to make a solvent to separate them back at his apartment, but does he really want his hero to find out that he's not an alpha?Spideypool Big Bang 2017 entry with art by Chez.





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the talented [Chez](http://petitechez-theminion.tumblr.com/post/164211341670)! I got to work with Chez on _two_ fics for this event, and I'm happy as a clam with our collaboration. ❤️

* * *

* * *

Wade hovered over his dingy sink, staring into the drain. It took a few moments for the import of what had happened to hit him.

“Fuck!” Too late, he tried shoving a finger down the pipe in an attempt to catch one of his pills before it disappeared completely. No such luck. Grabbing the edges of the sink, he shook it impotently, shaking his head. “ _Of course_ I had to spill the entire bottle!”

He bent over, pressing his forehead to the cool edge of the sink, and groaned. He was already two days late starting his suppressants. Things just got in the way, like they always did. Well, that, and his tendency to get distracted all the time. He only remembered because he’d started to cramp up and get all sweaty, which was a sure sign that he was going to get hit by his heat within the next few hours.

There was no way that he wanted to go through the whole thing without his pills. That was just a miserable experience all around. He would have to go get a refill. That meant leaving his apartment before it started in earnest. Hoping that there wasn’t a long line at the pharmacy, because he’d gone ages without putting anyone in the hospital and he’d rather not break that streak of good behavior, he slipped out his window and climbed down the fire escape. Who needed doors anyway?

* * *

* * *

What he didn’t count on was that his pharmacy would actually be... blown up.

“Why! Today of _all days!!_ ” Wrapped head to toe in his Deadpool threads, Wade gaped at the wreckage that had been made of the street corner where his pharmacy used to be. Sirens blared, people were running and yelling, and--was that Paste Pot Pete making a hasty exit stage left?

Oh, he was going to pay for this. And then he was going to pay some more.

Pumping his legs, Deadpool dashed across the street, dancing over chunks of rubble and burned corner store merchandise. He barreled towards the villain, who had attached himself with glue to the back of a getaway vehicle.

“Paste Pot!”

“Shit! Deadpool!”

“ _Get back here you sticky bastard!_ ” Launching himself into the air, Deadpool drew his katanas and drove them deep into the trunk of the car as an anchor. “You come to _my_ town, and blow up _my_ pharmacy!”

“Look, man, it’s just a job! It ain’t personal!”

Deadpool snarled and threw a punch, but the car swerved, and he scrambled to grab onto the handle of one of his swords to stay on. He didn’t have the benefit of having his feet glued to the trunk. “Oh, Pasty, it’s personal all right.”

Irritability. Yep, he was definitely extra irritable. Though considering that his favorite sandwich joint was next to the pharmacy and had _also_ been destroyed, the irritability may or may not have had anything to do with his impending heat.

Paste Pot wasn’t an alpha anyway. Deadpool would not be reacting to him. Although at this point it was probably a better idea to go home and start with his emergency contingency plan. So a little extra irrational, probably. Maybe.

“My name is Trapster, moron!” Paste Pot said, ducking under another fist.

Oh, just a little bit longer, and Deadpool’s desire to stay moral and _not_ gut this guy like a fish would dissolve…

“Trapster Moron? And here I thought your last name was Russian! Is ‘Moron’ some kind of New Jersey variant?”

Paste Pot and Deadpool both looked up as a voice came from above. A streak of red and blue followed, faster than Wade’s eyes could focus on it, and the sound of a hard fist hitting Petruski’s polymer helmet rang out half a second later.

“Spidey!” Deadpool was pleased, and then he was mad. “Hey! I coulda got him!”

But Paste Pot wasn’t down. He snarled and trained his glue gun on Spider-Man. A stream of sickly yellow goo shot out, but Spider-Man was too fast for him. He evaded the attack easily.

“Don’t blow your whole wad at once, Petey. Save some for me!” Deadpool flailed towards Paste Pot to grapple with him, trying to wrestle control of his glue gun away from him. Paste Pot had much better control of the environment, though. If only Deadpool could glue his own feet to the car. That’d make things much easier.

The thought did give him an idea though. 

With one arm wrapped around Paste Pot’s neck, Deadpool pulled a sword free and sliced cleanly through the tube that connected one of his glue guns to the tank on his back.

“No!! His tank is pressurized!” Spider-Man shouted.

Okay. “Cleanly” was not exactly the right word for the mess that followed.

Goopy yellow spooge burst out, with enough force to throw Deadpool completely off the car and into the air.

Into oncoming traffic.

Oh, this was going to hurt.

Just before he had the dubious pleasure of getting run over by a bus for the umpteenth time, a warm, strong arm caught him. His stomach lurched with sudden negative G forces as he was dragged back up into the air, the wind half knocked out of him.

“Spidey? Spidey! My hero!” Deadpool wrapped his arms around Spider-Man’s neck, overjoyed that Spidey thought he was worth saving. Even though he would have been fine, eventually. Still, it was nice to avoid severe physical trauma.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Spider-Man shot out a new webline and headed towards the nearest building. “I’ve still gotta take care of Petruski there. I’m just gonna dump you on this roof and--”

“Uh.” Deadpool stared into Spider-Man’s big white eyes and blinked. “Hate to be the one to point out the obvious here, but we’re stuck together.”

“Aw, dammit!” Spider-Man made an uncharacteristically awkward landing on the roof, owing to his inability to let go of Deadpool, and they staggered a couple of steps before Spider-Man’s natural sticking powers brought them to a stop.

Craning his neck, Deadpool looked down on the street. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Paste Pot anyway.”

Ten floors below, the villain was stuck in a mound of quickly hardening glue, thanks to Deadpool’s sabotage of his equipment. The getaway car was likewise incapacitated, tires spinning uselessly in the gloop and slowing to a stop as they got stuck. He was clearly not going to be going anywhere any time soon.

“Do you know how long his glue holds?” Deadpool asked.

“Forever. It requires a solvent. It’s not like my webbing, it doesn’t dissolve.” The eyes of Spider-Man’s mask narrowed, and as close as they were, Deadpool could see his lips pursing through the fabric. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to have a good strong whiff of his alpha scent.

Fuck.

Wade felt his heart beat faster, and his mask tickle his nose as his nostrils flared. All right, yes, it would be a dream come true to have Spider-Man ride him like a coin operated pony, but he wanted to have a bit more control over the situation. Control was _not_ what he would call it, being glued together, _literally_ , as he was heading straight into an unsuppressed heat.

Another cramp wriggled through his gut, and he knew that his slick was going to come soon.

Shit. He really didn’t need this. The fake alpha pheromones he was wearing, so that nobody would find out that the mercenary Deadpool was actually an omega, didn’t stop him from smelling and reacting to Spider-Man’s scent. He was terribly afraid that his body was going to betray him, and then things would get very embarrassing, and Spider-Man would never look at him the same again. Or he’d simply never want to look at him at all ever again.

Deadpool wasn’t sure which was worse. It was bad enough as it was, with his arms stuck glued around Spider-Man’s neck.

“Please tell me you know where he keeps his solvent.” Deadpool didn’t want to beg or whine, but he thought he could hear an edge of begging and whining in his own voice. He didn’t want to face the fact that it was too late. He’d fucked up big time. He should have been more careful with his pills. Hell, he should have been more on the ball and started taking his doses two days ago. But it was no use shutting the barn door after the horses were already gone and the barn was on fire.

“Do you smell that?” Spider-Man said.

“No! No, I don’t smell anything!” Deadpool squeaked. He could wiggle out of his uniform and get out of there, probably, but then his smell would be way too obvious, and he’d have a hundred strange alphas tracking him home.

Spider-Man dragged Deadpool with him to the edge of the roof, seemingly unaware of Wade’s difficulty. “I definitely smell something.”

“Look, just because I had fifteen burritos for lunch, doesn’t mean--”

“Shh!” Spider-Man hissed, making Deadpool jump.

The commanding tone also made Deadpool Junior jump, too. Oh god. Maybe Spidey would just think that it was one of Deadpool’s many weapons poking at his hip.

“They’re using fire retardant foam,” Spider-Man said. “That’s what I’m smelling.” He looked back at Deadpool, and Deadpool could just tell that there was heavy judgment in the gaze behind the mask. “Please tell me you did not fart while glued to me.”

“I did not fart while glued to you,” Deadpool said, swallowing. His fingers were tingling, face getting hotter by the moment, and he was trying desperately not to rub his crotch against Spider-Man. “But I really, really have to get home. Please, please tell me you have a solvent.”

“No, but I can make it easily.” Spider-Man sighed, sounding more than done. If he couldn’t smell Wade’s heat coming on underneath the fake pheromones, they were doing their job better than Wade expected. “Just, uh, you’ve got knives on you, right? I hate having to sew a new damn costume but we’re going to have to cut ourselves free for now.”

“No!” Deadpool shrieked. The last thing he wanted to do was be stripped down to his boxers in the middle of New York _in the middle of his heat!!_

“Come on, nobody cares about your skin,” Spider-Man said.

“All right, first of all, yes the hell they do. Especially me,” Deadpool said, feeling the flush of shame flood his cheeks. “Secondly, of course _you’re_ not body shy, since most of New York has already seen most of your body in varying percentages over the years.” He sniffed. “Maybe a girl wants to have some sense of mystery remaining.”

Spider-Man wasn’t buying it. “What the hell’s got you so on edge? You’re not the one glued to a certifiable maniac.”

Wade swallowed. He desperately wanted to kiss Spidey. He was so close. _So close._ His hormones were singing, calling Spidey’s name. “You'd be on edge too if you--! If someone blew up _your_ favorite drugstore.”

Then it happened. He felt slick running between his cheeks, and he clenched his muscles in a vain attempt to keep it back. Nothing would keep it back. If only he'd gotten to the pharmacy on time!

“Drugstore? Are you on medication?”

“Look, what do you need to make the solvent? I got tons of chemicals at my place. Can we go there. Like. Now?” Deadpool knew this was a risk. This was an awful idea. But some part of him thought it was the best idea, too. His huge crush on Spider-Man was no joke.

Still, he didn't want to put the guy into a rut and put him into a regrettable position. How was Spidey not smelling him, anyway?

“I'm not sure I want to know what you have ‘tons’ of chemicals for, but if you are that desperate, then fine. Looks like the cops will have Trapster taken care of shortly anyway, and I'd rather not have to buy what I need while we're stuck together.” Spider-Man sighed, and Deadpool loved the manly sound of it. “All right then, tell me where your chemicals are.”

Deadpool gave him directions, doing his best to keep clear headed enough not to rub his junk all over Spider-Man as they swung the few blocks to get there. It took all the concentration he had available to him, and then some. He tried thinking of completely unsexy things: dismemberment and pain, and then he started thinking about Cable, then he started thinking about Cable’s knot in his snatch and fingers in his ass, and that was completely the wrong thing to do. He forced himself to think about cows, of which he was terrified, and that seemed to do the trick. 

“What about cows?” Spider-Man said, coming to a stop against the wall next to Deadpool’s bedroom window.

“Nothing!” Deadpool rasped. He must have been muttering to himself.  Spidey’s voice in his ear did awful, wonderful things to him. “I left the window unlocked, just--just open it.”

Spider-Man did that, and the two of them struggled to get through the space together. The scrape of the windowsill against his ribs and spine at least was finally distracting enough to shrink his dick a little, but it'd be full and waiting for attention again soon enough. 

“This! Would be! So much easier! If you lost some weight!” Spider-Man grunted as he wiggled them through, shoving against the inside wall for leverage since he was the only one with arms really free. 

“It's all muscle!” Deadpool protested. 

“Your uniform is so bulky though! All your extra pouches and weapons and shit. Is all that really necessary? I've got your pistol digging into my hip and it's driving me nuts.”

That wasn't his pistol. “Oh. Ha ha. Eh. Heh. Heh. Hah. Yeah… uh. Sorry buddy…”

With a forceful groan and a shove, they were finally through, tumbling to the floor together in a sticky heap. 

Spider-Man sniffed the air. “I thought you lived alone? Do I smell your omega?”

Deadpool nearly choked on his own tongue. “They're out of town,” he croaked.

“Is this really your place? You didn't just have me break into some random omega’s home, did you?”

“I promise,” Deadpool said with a whine. How long was he going to be able to keep up the lie? He trusted Spidey as an honest, stand up guy, so it might be better to go ahead and tell him now that they were alone. He wouldn't give up Deadpool’s secret, would he? No, Wade didn't think so. Still, he was hesitant. “See? Guns in the corner! Those are mine.”

He could tell Spidey was eyeing his messy bed and general lack of tidiness. What he thought of Deadpool’s poor cleaning skill, however, was not evident. 

“One of us has to sacrifice his clothes,” Spider-Man said. “I vote you. You can afford it more than I can, I'm sure.”

“But Webs, I can buy you as many new costumes as you want,” Deadpool said.

“But this is your apartment. You have something to change into, I don't!”

Deadpool tried another tactic. “You really want to work on your solvent with my nasty clothes stuck to you?”

Spider-Man huffed. “You've got a point, but there's one problem. The glue has soaked through the fabric of my suit. It's glued _to my skin_. I can't take it off anyway. And I can't work with your whole body stuck on me. You _have_ to cut your clothes off.”

“Oh.” Deadpool resigned himself to his fate. He couldn't think of any more good arguments against why he shouldn't take his clothes off. In fact, he found that he really wanted to take his clothes off. He was feeling hotter than he was before, and his uniform was beginning to feel itchy. “Um actually. You'll have to do it. My arms are stuck.”

“Oh for the love of.” Spider-Man gave a frustrated noise, and before Deadpool could say a thing more, he'd grabbed the fabric of Deadpool’s outfit and ripped it apart down the back. 

The display of strength was so hot. _So hot!_ Wade moaned, more slick leaking from him into his boxers. He pressed his face against Spider-Man’s neck, forgetting himself. Needing to rub all over that alpha smell, and it was good, _really_ fantastically good. Spider-Man was prime.

“Uh, Deadpool?”

Wade groaned again, going limp in Spider-Man's arms, mouthing at his neck. 

“You were on your way to buy suppressants, weren't you. For yourself.”

“Uh huh.” Wade wrapped his legs around Spidey's waist, not caring about lying anymore. 

“Oh shit. Um. Wow, okay, no wonder you didn't want to--wow.” Spidey gently shoved Wade's legs back down. “Okay time to confess. You're not an alpha, you're an omega.”

“Mmmmgh alpha,” Wade breathed, licking Spidey's neck through his mask. 

“No, no I'm not. Actually.”

“Smell like alpha.” Wade clung to him tighter. 

“No, dude, I'm a beta. You're--shit, you're reacting to my fake stuff. Okay. Okay. Gotta figure this out. You're gonna--you know I won't be _unaffected_ by your heat here, even if I can't rut, right?”

“Mmm beta?” Wade wasn't fully registering what Spidey was talking about. “Smell… good…”

“Uh, yeah, I'm uh. I'm a scientist. I've got--look, I've got the best fake alpha pheromones not available on the market. Helps my rep as a hero you know?”

“Hahaha that's ironic. Don't care. You still smell so good.” Wade lost all shame, grinding his hips against Spidey. The friction on his dick was wonderful. 

Spider-Man gasped and stiffened in Wade's grip. “No, nooono, I can't--I can't help you, man. I'm not-- Let's just get you out of your clothes and you can--uh---take care of business and--and I'll just make sure you're okay, okay?”

Somehow, through the difficulty of being glued together and Wade unable to keep from pawing all over Spidey in the process, they managed to get Wade out of the remains of his uniform. They'd moved to the bathroom where there were scissors to help get most of the extra pieces without cutting into Spider-Man's costume.

Wade was too horny now to even care about being dressed just in his unicorn boxers. He needed to get out of them anyway; they were soiled with slick. 

Spider-Man held up the belts and bits of shredded ballistic weave that used to be Deadpool’s outfit. “Do you just… soak your suit in pheromones?”

“Ehhhh kinda?” Wade was still groping for every touch he could get on Spider-Man, who was keeping him back easily with a firm hand on his chest. “Good Spidey, such a good Spidey. Don't care if you're fake, you're real enough, and you're so hot. Always so hot.” He wrapped his fingers around Spider-Man's hand and began licking at his wrist over where an alpha’s scent gland would be. If Spidey was a beta, he faked it very well. 

“Oh man. Okay, down boy!” Spidey stepped back right into the wall as Wade lurched in for a kiss. 

“Down?” Wade frowned, then nodded. “Down. Down is good.” 

On his knees he went, ignoring how cold the tile floor was on his bare skin. He was pleased and gratified to see a healthy bulge in Spider-Man's pants, which he happily attached his mouth to through the blue spandex. Without hesitation, he licked it hard through the fabric, and began to suck on it wetly.

“Homigawd!” Spidey gasped and jumped, sticking to the upper wall of the tiny room out of reach. “Deadpool, no, no, I can't--!”

“Wade,” Wade whined. Spider-Man's reaction dragged him out of his headspace, reminding him how ugly and undesirable he was. Sure Spidey wouldn't spill the beans about him being an omega, but he wouldn't want to sully himself with a hideous-skinned omega either. He wasn't alpha, he wouldn't rut. He wouldn't enjoy it. 

“I know I'm ugly and gross.” Wade got to his feet, bending over as a wave of desire and raw need coursed through his belly. “Alphas don't want me. I'm sorry I'm just--it's been a long time.”

Before Spidey could say anything, Wade fled the bathroom and dove onto his bed, curling in on himself and slipping a hand into his boxers. He’d just--he'd just rub one out and then he'd feel better, hopefully. Take the edge off until Spider-Man left and he could throw off the last of his clothes and pull out his omega toys. The Captain never let him down: big silicone toy modeled after a well-endowed alpha’s cock.

“Dead--Wade,” Spider-Man said, correcting himself mid word. “That's not the problem. It's-- aw hell.”

“You don't have to lie to me,” Wade said, breathily, curling his left hand around his shaft and slipping his other hand past his balls towards his cunt. He was covered in slick down there, and his fingers slipped inside his greedy hole easily. The feeling made him shudder, and he just didn't care that Spider-Man was right there staring at his back. 

“Chemicals. Spare bedroom. Weapon storage. Make solvent.” Wade grunted. It was the best he could do right then.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by Wade's soft moans as he stroked and soothed his aching genitals. Then Spider-Man sighed. “I'll be near, okay?”

He left the bedroom, shutting the door softly, and Wade thought he heard him say something about omegas. 

Spider-Man? Judgmental and sexist? Wade couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. He couldn't make any assumptions based on something he hadn't really heard. Especially when he was more interested in pulling his silicone friend out from the drawer of his bedside table and rubbing the tip over his wet entrance. 

———

Peter was sweating under his costume. As soon as he had shut Deadpool--Wade--away in his bedroom, he pulled off his mask and took a deep breath. That maybe was a mistake. Wade's omega smell was all over the apartment. Though, it was a bit mixed up with the smell of fake alpha, gunpowder, cilantro, refried beans, and old pizza. There were stains on Wade's furniture and the counter in his kitchenette, but it wasn't much worse than Peter’s own apartment. Even including the leaning tower of pizza boxes. 

Dammit, he wished none of this had happened. He didn't want to intrude on Deadpool's personal life, but here he was straight in the middle of it. In the past, the mercenary had not been a shining example of humanity, and Peter used to be disdainful of him as being one of those typical alphas with the bullshit outlook that they could do whatever the hell they wanted, _whenever_ the hell they wanted. Learning that Wade was actually an omega was forcing Peter to reconsider a lot of his preconceptions about the guy. 

For which, of course, he was now feeling guilty. Because he and guilt were old friends. It was an easy emotion to feel. 

Easier than dealing with the erection he was sporting from being around a needy omega in heat. Jesus. At least he wasn't an alpha and losing his mind too, but it wasn't exactly a walk in the park just because he was a beta. His suit was glued to his entire front, down to his crotch. Oozed right through to the skin, making it impossible to remove without removing hair and several layers of skin in the process. Getting that solvent made was number one priority. 

His hard on, though, was _so_ distracting. Where the hell did Deadpool keep those chemicals he was talking about? Right, the other bedroom.

Peter ground his teeth together as he heard Wade moan loudly from the other room. Focus. Focus. Have to make the solvent. Have to get out of the suit. There were still bits of red and black fabric stuck to him.

The other room had an old box spring propped against the wall, wires bare and rusty, and there were crates of weapons, ammunition, and mostly old junk shoved around. He saw a broken toaster, hardware tools, a motorcycle seat and handlebars, and a messy workstation. It was covered in bits of metal, screws and bolts of various sizes, wires, precision tools, and little containers of useful chemicals.

The chemicals that Deadpool had likely been talking about, however, were in larger jugs stashed on shelves on the wall and on plastic trays underneath the bench. There was only one explanation.

Peter sighed. “Of course he makes explosives.”

To be fair, what Deadpool had in that room could be used to make other things as well, including the right kind of solvent that Peter needed to get Paste Pot’s glue out of his suit. Which he desperately wanted to do. He could hear Deadpool in the other room, and he could smell Deadpool on himself under the smell of the glue, and he couldn’t take his goddamn pants off to rub one out. He _really_ needed it. 

While he was measuring liquid carefully into several glass vials, Peter heard a series of loud, panting moans through the door. Desire lurched through him, picturing Deadpool in there with a toy shoved deep inside. Peter set down what he was working with and gripped the edge of the desk, so hard the metal creaked and bent in protest. 

“Shit.” His right hand went to the bulge in his pants, and he palmed himself through the spandex, trying to get some relief. Curling his left arm over the work space, he rested his forehead against his wrist and stroked as best as he could. It helped, but only marginally. 

If he did what he wanted to do, he'd go into the other room and offer to help Deadpool directly. It wasn't that he hated the guy, but it had only been recently that Deadpool had seemed to genuinely be trying to be a better person. He was doing hero sorts of things. _Helping_ people. He’d cut back on the collateral damage he caused, and as far as Peter knew it had been at least a couple years since Deadpool had killed anyone.

Peter hadn't said anything to him about it, but he _had_ noticed. He appreciated seeing him trying to improve himself. Maybe… maybe that was something that he should say to Deadpool directly.

How much of Deadpool’s acting out was because his brain was fried from the experiments done on him, and how much because he was overcompensating for being an omega in a world of supers who were mostly alphas? Spider-Man was not immune to that sort of problem. He was only of average height, and he was wiry and lean muscled. His body type did not match his great strength, even if a life full of physical activity had made him fill out some now that he was firmly in his mid twenties. 

In any case, he'd learned early on that fake pheromones made hero work easier, and helped to hide his identity in some cases. He had invented patches to wear in the corner of his neck and on his wrists, held in place by slim pouches sewn into his suit. Unlike Deadpool, who seemed to have just been soaking his uniform in the stuff. No wonder he had always come across as extra off-putting.

Now, though, the mercenary was in a vulnerable place. His secret was no longer a secret.

Peter groaned and stopped rubbing his dick. This wasn't helping. He had to finish the solvent and get his clothes off. Or. Was it just get the glue out of his clothes? Shit, he just wanted to get naked with Deadpool. He'd been with alphas and betas, but he'd never been around an omega in heat before. 

It was… different. 

Focus. _Focus._ Solvent. Yes.

With willpower as hard as iron--just like his stubborn erection--he concentrated and got everything cooking. Now he just had to wait while the chemical reactions worked. It was going to take about fifteen minutes. A very agonizing fifteen minutes, with nothing to do but listen to Deadpool masturbating in the other room.

Could he really just leave him alone to go through that? It had been purely dumb luck that this had happened. Peter didn't have to worry about his subgender at all, so he couldn't judge the circumstances that had led to the omega going through a raw heat alone. 

It was socially acceptable, without question, for people to get help with their hormone cycles with casual acquaintances. There was no taboo. And Peter… he couldn't just abandon the guy, even though he didn’t know him that well. Even if they weren’t even what he’d call friends.

Padding across the apartment, he knocked on the door to Deadpool's bedroom. It had gone quiet in there. “Uh… Deadpool? Are you okay?”

God, what a dumb, awkward question.

“What do you think!” came the frustrated cry. 

Peter swallowed. He pulled his mask back over his head, making a decision that was going to have unforeseen consequences, he was sure. But he couldn't be bothered to care right then. “Do you…” His heart pounded in his chest and his lips were dry. He licked them. “Do you want me to come in?”

“Uunnggghhh,” was all he heard through the door.

Steeling his nerve, Peter twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open. There on the bed was Deadpool, splayed out on the ruffled bedsheets in all his naked, scarred glory, hands between his legs. One was wrapped around his shaft, and the other held a remote attached to a wire that disappeared behind his balls. Peter had been expecting something like that, but the sight and the scent of the omega, plus the expression of erotic frustration on his face, affected him more than he thought it would. 

“Do you--” he started to say. 

“Don't look at me!” Deadpool whined, curling up on his side. A sheen of sweat covered his body, making every scar and muscle gleam in the sunlight coming through the window. “Fuck, fuck me, fuck stupid Petruski, fuck everything.”

“I'm sorry! I'll go!” Peter whirled to leave. He wasn't prepared to deal with the mixed signals the omega was giving him. 

“No! Don't. Please. It’s-- uugghh _words_.” Deadpool squirmed, fisting his erection furiously like he couldn't help himself. 

He probably couldn't, Peter thought. He stepped towards the bed, pulling his gloves off and setting them on the nightstand. Deadpool's eyes were closed right then, and he looked so… lonely and vulnerable. It made Peter's heart ache. 

When he touched a hand to Deadpool's forehead, Deadpool's eyes blinked open and he gazed up at Peter. Questions and confusion were written all over that look. “Wha?”

“Do you want help?” Peter asked gently. 

“But-- you--”

“Talk later, Deadpool. Help now. Yes? No?”

“Yes!” Deadpool cried with a sob. “But please. Name’s Wade. Deadpool isn’t…”

Peter understood. “Okay. Wade. Roll over?”

Wade groaned and rolled over to his other side, affording Peter a view of his beautiful, muscular back and the blue vibrator peeking out of his cunt. The scent of slick and strawberry lube was thick in the air, and Peter bit his lip to hold back a moan. There was the bottle of lube on the bed, oozing out onto the sheets because Wade hadn't closed it. 

Lying down, Peter pulled up the bottom of his mask and kissed behind Wade's ear. He resisted the urge to rub his face all over Wade's neck, even though his smell was sweet and thick and heady. “I'm gonna lie against the pillows, Wade. You lie back on top of me between my legs, okay?”

“Yes. Please. Spidey.”

Wade's weight against him, and his ass pressed against Peter's aching cock, felt so good. Still stuck glued in his suit, Peter couldn't offer Wade anything more than this for the moment, but he'd do his best. 

“Please, please touch me,” Wade said, gasping. 

Peter obliged. He wrapped his arms around Wade's chest, holding him tight, and slid his right hand down to join Wade's on Wade's cock. He rutted against Wade's ass as he started stroking, needing his own relief. Damn this glue!

“Ah! Ah! Oh--oh Spidey.” Wade wiggled against him, and Peter held him a little tighter. 

“Come on, just like that.” Peter moved his hand in long, firm strokes, clinging to Wade while he gasped and canted his hips in pleasure. The noises coming from the omega were exciting him, and he was thankful that he was a beta and wouldn't go into a rut and lose himself in this. He needed to stay in control, because Wade wasn't. 

Would this be enough for him, though? While he rubbed his thumb across the slit of Wade's cock, smearing precum over the head, and carefully worked the vibrator in and out of him, Peter worried. Could Wade get enough relief from being attended to by a beta? Would this help, or just add to his frustration?

“Wade…” Peter murmured in his ear. Wade whimpered at him, and Peter moved a hand to his chest, pinching a nipple. Wade gasped, a beautiful noise, his hand seeking Peter's. Twining their fingers together, Peter pressed his wrist against Wade's face. 

Wade's reaction was immediate. He moaned, huffing at Peter's wrist over where the pheromone patch was hidden. “Spidey? Alpha?” His breathing came faster, and he rocked his hips up into Peter's fist with each stroke. He’d already brought himself fairly close to the edge.

“Come on, Wade. Come on,” Peter closed his eyes and let himself get into the moment, running his lips over the shell of Wade's ear. He sealed his mouth over the rough earlobe and sucked on it, tasting Wade's sweat. Wade was too out of it to know the difference, and maybe the smell would help. 

“ _Mmm_ ,” he hummed appreciatively, working his fist faster, chasing after Wade's gasps and choked breaths.

“Please, please, please,” Wade pleaded, fingers clawing at Peter's costume. “I'm--!”

Peter curled his legs around Wade's when he stiffened and cried out, holding him close, helping him ride through to completion. Creamy ejaculate covered his hand as he continued stroking, and Wade jerked in his grip until he went limp, making little whimpers of satisfaction.

With his own need still roaring through him and unsatisfied, Peter did his best not to whine in complaint. Especially when he heard Wade make a noise that might have been something like a sob.

“Wade?” Peter said softly. 

“You didn't… have to do that,” Wade said, voice uncharacteristically small.

The right words didn't want to come. Peter had no adequate way to respond to that. Nothing that felt adequate, anyway, so he remained silent and pressed a kiss to the back of Wade's head. “I need to get up. The solvent will be ready by now.”

“Well, good timing then! You can go ahead and get out of here, Spidey. You know how it is, guests and garbage stink after three days.” Wade rolled to the side and hurriedly wrapped his sheets around his body, hiding it from Peter's view. 

Oh no. What had he done wrong? Should he not have interfered? Peter frowned and swore inside his head. Get the solvent, soften the glue so he could get it out of his costume, and then--

“Do you have clothes I could borrow?”

Wade pointed an arm across the room to a messy closet. “Take what you want. At your own risk, though.”

“Thanks,” Peter said, stepping that direction. He'd figure out how to fix whatever he'd just broken. Even though he and Deadpool weren't exactly friends, he would do that much. 

———

Wade watched out of the corner of his eye as Spider-Man ruffled through his clothes and picked out a hoodie and sweats that didn't look too dirty. He was about to protest that those were his most comfortable sweatpants, but he _had_ told Webs that he could take what he wanted, so he remained silent on the issue. 

The door clicking shut softly as Spidey left him alone was awful. He felt bereft, remembering Spidey's touch on his skin, craving more of it. It had been surprisingly gentle and caring, but maybe that was just the perception his hormones had given him. His heat had abated after he came, but it would flare up again before too long. If only Spidey could stay, but Wade knew he wouldn't want to. Even alphas didn't want to be with an ugly skinned omega, one who couldn't even conceive due to what Weapon X had done to him. Why would a beta want to? Especially since that meant Spidey wouldn't go into a rut and actually enjoy himself. 

With a grunt and a sigh, Wade leaned over and wiggled the vibrator out of his snatch. Lube trickled out of him, running down over his neglected asshole and tickling enough to make him want to wipe off hastily with a towel from the floor. From the other room, he heard water noises and muffled curses. Was Spidey having a hard time getting the glue out? Maybe when he left, he would give Wade his fake pheromones, just so Wade didn't have to feel so alone.

How pathetic. “Wallowing in self pity is easier than keeping my shit together, right?”

As much as he didn't want to, Wade got up, pulled his mask over his head, and threw on a dirty t-shirt and some pajama pants. He could at least chomp down some carbs and fluids before he had to go back and take care of himself. There was leftover pad thai in the fridge that wasn’t too old, and some juice concentrate in the freezer.

“Rather have a beer,” he muttered to himself. “But noooo, that makes your heat worse, doesn’t it? The _one time_ when your healing factor doesn’t keep you from getting drunk, and it’s inconvenient as fuck.”

He hovered over the microwave while his food spun around inside, trying not to be so aware of Spider-Man’s presence in the guest bathroom. It was easier than he thought it would be, because the smell of the food heating up made his mouth water, and his skin was far too sensitive to be wearing the clothes that he’d grabbed. He should probably invest in some fabric softener.

“What am I, domestic?” He snorted to himself and yanked open the microwave door when it beeped at him.

“Oh, I’d _never_ accuse you of being domestic.”

With a girlish shriek, Wade whirled and slapped a hand to his chest. There was Spider-Man, leaning against the door to the kitchen, wearing Wade’s clothes--

\-- _wearing Wade’s clothes!! That was far too sexy, even if they were sweatpants and a hoodie. They were Wade’s clothes!--_

\--with his arms folded. With his mask on, Wade couldn’t see his expression, but his tone of voice was pleasant. Wade thought again of what they’d just done, and he swallowed. He could feel a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him that he couldn’t suppress.

“Okay, _rude_ ,” he said, pointing his dirty chopsticks in Spidey’s direction. “I don’t tolerate rudeness from my guests.” He sniffed. “Isn’t it about time you left, anyway?”

Spider-Man fidgeted visibly, looking off to the side and away from Wade. Wade couldn’t blame him: his nasty scarred arms were still showing. The thought made him tug on his sleeves, wishing he’d picked an old turtleneck to wear instead. Wearing even _more_ clothes, though, would probably be excruciating. His skin was awful at the best of times; going into heat made it so much worse.

“Well?” Wade said, wishing Spidey would go and stop tormenting him with his fake alpha smell. “Get thee gone, beta!” He waved a hand at him to shoo, and turned back to the white carton in the microwave.

“I was going to ask you if you needed help with anything,” Spider-Man said. “I know this… uh… hit you unexpectedly.”

Wade rolled his shoulders, feeling itchy. He pulled his mask up over his nose and began shoveling food into his mouth while standing at the counter. “I don’t need your pity, pretty boy.”

Spidey sighed. “I’m not offering pity. But I can’t just-- Look, if I’d had half a brain in my head, I’d’ve taken you to a clinic to get some emergency suppressants instead of bringing you home.” He rubbed the back of his neck in an insecure gesture that Wade thought was adorable. “What I’m offering is to help you get some groceries, or maybe get some pills for you, or, shit, drop off your electric bill if that’s what you need.”

What Wade needed was Spidey’s dick in him, but he wasn’t going to start begging again. “It’s fine,” he said stiffly around half a mouthful of food. “Just go. You don’t have to feel obligated  to do anything for me.” He tugged at his shirt collar. It felt so tight. He wanted Spidey to leave so he could take his clothes off again.

“Why are you rejecting my help?” Spider-Man took a step towards him. “If it’s definitely unwanted, I’ll go, but er… you seemed to, uh, be all right with it before. Isn’t it supposed to get worse after the first wave?”

Wade paused with the chopsticks stuck in his lips and glowered. “Yes,” he muttered after swallowing. Damn his legs itched in these stupid pants. He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, rubbing his thighs together.

“Come on, Deadpool. Wade,” Spidey said. He held out a bare hand. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, or possibly wasn’t wearing his suit at all under the hoodie. Damn. “Let me help you.”

Wade looked down at Spidey’s hand. “So. You’ll get me food and drugs?”

“Well, I uh.” Spider-Man coughed softly. “I can help you like I did before, too, if you want.”

Wade snorted. “Gonna take a lot more than that to help next time, baby boy.” Which was true enough. Knowing that, Spider-Man would surely back out now. “You willing to go that far?”

Without seeing his face, Spider-Man’s reaction was not clear. He seemed to freeze up in indecision, but Wade couldn’t be sure. Wade was about to turn away and tell him to go again when he spoke.

“Yes.”

“A sphincter says _what_?”

“A _spider_ says ‘yes’.” Spider-Man got closer to him and offered his hand again. “I’ve never been with an omega before, but I’m a-- I know objectively how awful it is to go through a heat without a partner. And I’ve noticed how hard you’ve been working to be a better person. You don’t deserve to suffer because I wasn’t quick enough to stop Trapster.”

Wade knew that to question Spidey on his motives, whether it was pity or guilt or what, would mean potentially making him leave, and he was far too selfish and was going to be far too horny to care. “Uh. Yeah. Okay.” Somewhat in disbelief, he reached out for Spidey’s hand and brought it to his face to rub against his wrist. He wasn’t wearing his suit on under the hoodie, but Wade could still smell the fake alpha scent transferred to his skin. It was so good.

A few moments later, Spider-Man said, “Are you okay? You look… itchy.”

“My stunning skin gets extra special angry with me when I’m in my heat,” Wade said.

“Why’d you put clothes on? And your mask?”

Wade blinked and dropped Spidey’s hand. “Is that a serious question?”

“Um, yes?”

Wade stepped away and slumped into a rickety folding chair at the table with the last few bites of his food. “I’m hideous. Nobody wants to see that shit.”

“I’ve just seen it already.”

“Didn’t want to ruin your appetite for good,” Wade said, trying to give a casual shrug. “Even most alphas in rut would be disgusted by my body.”

Spider-Man sat in the only other chair in the kitchen and pulled it up to the table. “Wade, you’re not disgusting.”

“Now I know you’re lying to me.” Wade’s mouth twisted. “You’ve seen my bathroom.”

“Pfft. Not any worse than mine is, honestly,” Spidey said. After a pause, he added, “Mine may have fewer bloodstains.”

Wade rolled his eyes, throwing his whole head and shoulders into it so that Spidey could see, since he still had the mask on. This made him feel uncomfortable all over again, and he tugged at his shirt.

“Just because your skin has issues, doesn’t mean you’re gross,” Spidey said.

Wade mimicked a “talking” gesture with his fingers and didn’t respond.

“What can I say to convince you that I’m serious?”

“Sweetheart, nothing you can say or do would convince me,” Wade said cynically. His ex, Cable, had thought he was ugly and worthless and immoral, and had fucked him anyway because he was convenient. It was entirely possible to want to do the nasty with someone and not respect them, so it’d sure take a lot more than that.

Spider-Man didn’t say anything to that, but stood up again. Apparently willing to change the subject, he asked, “You want me to make that juice for you? Got a pitcher somewhere?”

Feeling very drained suddenly, Wade waved a hand at him in affirmative, and pointed to the lower cabinet where a dingy old plastic pitcher lived. Spidey had to either bend or crouch to retrieve it. He went for the bend, giving Wade a decent view of his ass. Wade sighed, and took his time chewing the last bite of his pad thai.

Spider-Man ran the hot water in the kitchen faucet, and he asked Wade some questions, or was trying to make conversation with him, but Wade wasn’t listening. Maybe he responded automatically, he wasn’t sure. He was focused on Spidey’s hand stuck out under the stream of water to test the temperature. Every move Spidey made was suddenly very intriguing. Setting the pitcher into the half full sink. Peeling the plastic seal off of the can of juice. Squeezing the frozen juice into the pitcher with a wet _plop_. The hot water filling the pitcher and melting the orange blob. Spidey stirring it with a large spoon.

“Earth to Deadpool!”

“Deadpool has left the building,” Wade said.

“Then why doesn’t _Wade_ go and lie down? I’ll make a quick trip to the store and be right back.”

Wade didn’t want him to go. “Don’t waste your money on me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Or just give me money.”

“No cash,” Wade lied.

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Shop’s blown up.”

“I’ll go somewhere else.”

Wade wrinkled his nose. “Do you think that pissing me off will delay the next wave of my heat? I promise, _it won’t_. Neither will taking your fake ass pheromones out of here.”

Spider-Man folded his arms and gave Wade a level stare. “Are you trying to make me renege on my offer?”

_Stop sabotaging your goddamn self_ , Wade screamed inside his head. Though getting angry, even over something stupid, did help him clear his head a little, even if just temporarily. Being honest with himself--which he _loathed_ \--he was going to be out of commission again very soon. He didn’t want Spidey to leave because he’d be way out of it by the time he got back, but he didn’t want to _say_ that.

“Fine, go,” Wade said. The leftover carton and the chopsticks he left behind as he stood and started to leave to go back to his bedroom. “Go do your spidery errands. I’m trapped here anyway.”

When he passed through the doorway, Spider-Man put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want me to leave,” he said.

“Is that your deduction, genius? Who cares if you leave?” Wade snapped. This entire ordeal was so embarrassing, and it was only getting worse each moment. Spidey seemed sincere, but a huge part of Wade couldn’t allow himself to believe that his offer to keep Wade company was genuine, even though Wade didn’t believe him to be a liar. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

“ _Wade_ ,” Spider-Man said, grabbing Wade and turning him so they faced each other. His hands went to the sides of Wade’s face and held him, gently but firmly. “I’ll stay. We’ll order from Foodkick instead, okay?”

The contact and the pressure on his face calmed something in Wade, and even though Spider-Man was shorter, he felt so wonderfully supportive in that moment. He nodded slowly, words having left him. His mask, rather than feeling comforting in the way it hid his face, felt constricting and claustrophobic. He wanted it off, but he didn’t want Spidey to see the look on his face.

Spidey stroked his thumbs softly over Wade’s cheeks, and Wade let out an embarrassingly soft noise. The urge to curl up against Spidey and stay there forever hit him like a freight train, and he wondered if that was his heat talking or the crush he’d been nursing for a while. Either way, it didn’t matter. It still didn’t feel real that Spidey had agreed to stay with him for his heat. He kept expecting to wake up and realize this was all a hallucination. Except for the solid press of Spider-Man’s hands against his face.

“Drink some juice, then go back to your bedroom,” Spider-Man said. “And I’ll make the order. If you’re really worried about the money, you can pay me back.”

Wade nodded numbly. Some part of him wanted something snappy to say back, some joke, or a song lyric, or some goddamn thing, but he couldn’t.

———

Peter’s nerves were humming as he put in the order for groceries and medications on his phone. It’d be at least an hour until they were delivered, which was plenty of time for him to…

Shit, was Wade right? Did he have shitty motives for this? Was it pity that was motivating him? Peter knew what it felt like to be pitied, knew how bitter it tasted. Knew how much he hated it. He sure didn’t want to do that to someone else. What had people done to Wade that had made him reject compassion?

Well that was a stupid fucking question. The answer was written all over Wade’s body, and Peter should know better.

Returning to the bedroom, Peter knocked on the door before opening it. There on the bed, Wade was rolling on the covers, stripping his clothes off. His shirt was halfway off, trapping his arms above his head. He was struggling with it, in too much of a hurry to extricate himself from the sleeves.

“Oh, okay, are you--?” Peter started.

Wade’s voice came muffled through the fabric. “Get your spider ass over here!”

Peter rushed to the bed and sat down on the edge. Reaching out, he placed a hand gently on Wade’s chest, feeling his scars and the pounding of his heart. He was hot and sweating again. “Hey, calm down.”

“ _You_ calm down!”

“Don’t be such an ass,” Peter said sharply.

“I’m entitled!” Wade grumbled. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“So much for the vulnerable omega theory,” Peter chuckled, working his fingers up under the shirt fabric to help Wade get it over his thickly muscled shoulders and strong chin. Wade smelled fantastic, and Peter couldn’t help dipping his head to kiss the base of his throat. It wasn’t the same through his own mask, so he pulled it up over his nose and did it again.

“Oh, you--! Mmgh. Shut up,” Wade said. Once his shirt was off, he threw it across the room and started kicking his pants off. Not being very efficient at it, he just scissored his legs and grunted in frustration.

Peter leaned over him, crawling up onto the mattress to kneel next to him. “Hey, it’s ok.”

“Don’t talk to me like a child,” Wade whined.

“You don’t do well with compliments or kind gestures, do you.” Peter helped him get the pajama pants over his hips, exposing his cock. He was hard again, and Peter saw the sheen of slick between his thighs.

“No such thing.” Wade rolled on his side away from Peter.

With a sigh, Peter lay down next to him and draped an arm over his waist. “I’m not in the mood to argue the point, and I don’t think you are, either.” Caressing with careful fingers, he made his way down Wade’s chest, rubbing soft circles over his belly. Wade’s muscles jumped, and he gasped, even though Peter didn’t touch his member. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“You sure you wanna be here with nasty ol’ me?” There was a note of restraint in Wade's voice. Was he holding back?

“Yes, I’m sure,” Peter answered, hoping it wasn’t too quickly. He brushed his lips across the fabric covering Wade's ear. “Can I taste you?”

“Oh ffffuck yes, god, please,” Wade said, arching against Peter. He was quivering, teetering on the edge of being swallowed by his body's desires. 

Pushing him onto his back, Peter placed his mouth against Wade's neck. He tasted Wade's skin and sweat, slid his tongue over the soft spot over Wade's pulse. He'd rubbed one out in the bathroom, but being so close to the omega was driving him wild again.  He suctioned his lips over Wade’s adam’s apple and scraped his teeth over it gently, humming.

Wade gasped and tugged at Peter's shirt. “I… I need--”

“What do you need, Wade?” Peter mouthed against his throat.

“I need to feel your skin. Now. Please.”

Peter knew Wade didn’t need any teasing, so he didn’t waste time peeling out of his shirt. He slid down over Wade, allowing him full body contact, and Wade arched up into him, spreading his thighs and squeezing them around Peter’s hips.

“Slow down, I want to be thorough,” Peter said, running his hands up Wade’s sides, feeling Wade shiver. “It’ll be better for you.” The more he worked Wade’s whole body up, the more he’d be satisfied, the more it would calm his heat. So Peter hoped.

“Nngh, yes, more,” Wade moaned, fingers curling in the sheets.

Working his way down Wade’s chest, Peter left a trail of nips and kisses. He stroked his hands over Wade’s thighs while he rolled first one nipple then the other between tongue and teeth. He bit hard, making Wade gasp, then licked over the spot to soothe it, repeating the actions with variations he found got the best reactions.

“Spidey,” Wade breathed, hands moving to the back of Peter’s head. “Spi-- kiss me.”

Peter leaned up, pressing his clothed erection against Wade’s bare and leaking one, grinding hips together and dragging a low groan from Wade’s throat. They weren’t his pants anyway, he didn’t care how stained they got from Wade’s slick and both their precum. “Lift your mask.”

Wade hurried to do so, pulling it just up over his nose and not off. Peter bit his own lip, feeling a pang. Was Wade still shy of showing his face? He’d had his mask off earlier, but they hadn’t been face to face. He was sure it had to be uncomfortable.

Still, Peter kissed him, molding their lips together and slipping his tongue past Wade’s teeth, stroking the roof of his mouth the way he was going to with Wade’s vagina in a minute.

Wade kissed him back hungrily, whimpering, clinging to Peter and digging his nails into Peter’s back in a way that shot fire and lightning through him. “Ohgodyes,” Peter gasped in one breath.

“M-more,” Wade demanded.

“Wade… Wade, please, take your mask off,” Peter said.

“No. Ugly. Don’t want-- you to go.”

Peter frowned. “Wade, I won’t.” He slipped his fingers around Wade’s member, pumping his fist with slow and even pressure. “Please.”

Wade turned away and shook his head.

“If… if you take off your mask, I’ll take off mine.” This was a risk, but he could take it. He had Wade’s secret, and it… seemed only fair. Wade wouldn’t betray his confidence when he could easily betray Wade’s. Beyond that, it felt… right. Depending on how much Wade remembered of all this.

Going still suddenly, Wade’s throat bobbed as he swallowed and looked at him. “Serious?”

Peter nodded, and kissed him. “Serious.”

Yanking his mask off, Wade tossed it off the bed. His cheeks were flushed, eyes half lidded, pupils dark with desire, but he stared at Peter with an intense, vulnerable emotion flooding his gaze.

All right, this was his own idea, so…

Peter reached back with one hand and curled his fingers underneath the edge of his mask, pulling it forward over his head. His hair was a mess, he was sure, and it was mashed forward against his forehead. “Peter. I’m Peter.”

* * *

* * *

Without hesitation, Wade’s hands shot up and he buried his fingers in Peter’s hair. “God you’re gorgeous. Please fuck me _now_.”

Grinning and blushing at the compliment, Peter kissed him, and slid down his body to lick stripes over his mottled skin. He brought his attention to Wade’s cock, laving it with his tongue thoroughly from base to tip. Swirling the tip of his tongue against the slit, while Wade’s hips rocked under him and gibberish fell from Wade’s lips.

Slipping his mouth over the cockhead, Peter moaned against Wade’s flesh, loving the cry that Wade made, and the louder one when he rubbed two fingers up and down against Wade’s snatch. He pressed them deeper inside, Wade’s slick covering his hand.

Over on the bedside table lay Wade’s vibrator. Behind it, which he hadn’t noticed before, was a long, curved and ribbed anal plug, that looked like it was shaped to stimulate the prostate. Distracting Wade with his mouth, twirling circles around the sensitive end of his cock, Peter reached out to grab it. He pulled his fingers free and replaced them with the toy. Wade didn’t act like he noticed, too wound up in sensation. That was fine. Peter worked it in and out, hollowing his cheeks as he sucked on Wade’s member.

Damn, Wade’s moans and the squirms of his hips were to die for.

Once Peter thought the plug was coated well enough in Wade’s slick, he slid it out of his vagina and down to the puckered muscle below. The plug was a good shape, enough to give a bit of a stretch but not wide enough to require much prep.

“You’re so wet, Wade,” Peter said.

“Yeah,” Wade said breathily.

Carefully, Peter pushed the silicone against Wade’s asshole. “Is this okay?”

“YES,” Wade said. Well, that was a strong reaction.

Gently, slowly, Peter worked the toy into Wade’s ass, leaning over to run his tongue up and down over his labia and dip inside to taste his juices and get him to relax his muscles more. Wade’s mouth was hanging open, little whines and whimpers squeezing from his throat. He was so gone, and Peter enjoyed it so much.

Once the toy was fully seated to its flared base, Peter shoved his fingers back into Wade’s vagina, stroking against his walls with the toy pressing against the other side. Wade gave a full body shudder and made pleased noises. Oh yes, that was good.

Between his mouth and fingers, Peter had Wade thrashing on the bed, lost in the moment and unable to speak anything but half choked syllables. Peter’s dick ached, rock hard. He was sure he had ruined the inside of his boxers, and he figured it was time. Wade whimpered when he removed his fingers, but he kept his mouth on Wade’s cock while he shuffled out of pants and boxers and kicked them aside.

He’d found condoms in the bathroom while he was in there and had shoved one into his pocket just in case. Putting it on did require him to let Wade’s cock fall out of his mouth, but he let it go with one last kiss to the tip before he did. He ripped the foil open with his teeth, and it rolled on smoothly, Peter not being unpracticed in their use.

Bracing on hands and knees over Wade, Peter looked down on him, panting and looking desperate. “It’s all right, baby, I got you,” Peter murmured, bending over to press their lips together. He took himself in hand, rubbing his dick around Wade’s wetness and up behind his balls, all those sensitive places he’d found Wade really liked.

“Spidey,” Wade gasped. “Spidey please.”

Had he forgotten Peter’s name? Or was “Spidey” what came easiest? It didn’t matter, Peter was both. He pushed against Wade’s entrance, and Wade spread his legs further and arched his hips up in offering with another gasped _please_ that Peter couldn’t ignore. He pressed inside, and once he was in he thrust until he bottomed out, and rocked his hips forward to add pressure.

“ _Uunnnghh_ ,” Wade groaned, throwing his head back and gripping at the pillow on either side of his head. “Oh _g-god yes!_ S-so good…”

“Grab the headboard and don’t let go, baby,” Peter said, firmly taking Wade’s wrists and guiding his hands to the bars of the headboard. Wade obeyed easily, lost in his omega side, and Peter had to kiss him again. On his mouth, his cheeks, his eyes, over his throat.

Wade felt so good inside, especially with the toy in his ass. As Peter built up a rhythm Wade matched it, arching his back and canting his hips, legs wrapped around Peter’s waist. Peter kissed and touched everywhere he could reach, pampering and worshiping Wade’s tortured skin, fist pumping Wade’s cock.

“You’re gorgeous, Wade,” Peter murmured against his lips. “Look at your muscles, look how you move when I thrust into you. You feel so good inside. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.” He rubbed his chest against Wade’s, letting go of Wade’s erection and tilting his hips so the friction would come from their bodies moving together.

Wade just whined, elbows shaking as he tried to obey the order to hold the headboard.

“Good boy, you can let go.”

Immediately Wade let go, wrapping his arms around Peter’s back and clinging to him like his life depended on it. Wrapped around Peter like that, as close as they could possibly be, it felt like they were melting together. Peter reveled in the intimate feeling it gave him, amazed to have that feeling coming from the mercenary Deadpool.

Peter moved faster, firmer, responding to Wade’s movements and noises to find the right rhythm. Once found, Wade’s noises got louder, and before Peter could press his fingers to Wade’s mouth to quiet him, Wade quieted himself against Peter’s neck, gasping and screaming into his skin. He tightened up everywhere, rough fingernails clawing red furrows in Peter’s back, thighs squeezing tight around Peter’s hips. Hot seed spilled between them, and it was all so much, Peter struggled to hold back while Wade rode out several waves of orgasm until he was just whining in the back of his throat.

Switching to his own pace, Peter slammed his mouth against Wade’s and practically sucked the breath from him while he made a half dozen more thrusts and chased his own release. It exploded through him, sweet and sharp, radiating warmth and lightning from his belly outward.

Collapsing on top of Wade, he panted against his neck, arms hanging limp against his sides. His dick twitched in satisfaction, and he made a lazy smile into Wade’s neck. Damn, that had been thoroughly satisfying. He hoped it had satisfied Wade’s omega as well.

Peter propped himself up again and rolled his hips playfully while still inside, watching Wade’s face. Wade was blinking up at him, fingers scratching lightly at Peter’s hips.

Peter frowned. “What?”

“You liked that?”

Peter snorted a laugh and bent to kiss Wade’s nose. “Yes, Deadpool, I liked that.”

“You don’t have a-- we’re not stuck together.”

Knot. Wade was talking about an alpha knot. Which Peter didn’t have, because he was a beta. “No, but I don’t want to pull out anyway.” Peter raised an eyebrow. Wade squeezed him inside, and it was not great on Peter’s oversensitive dick. “AH! Okay, if you do that again, I will.”

Wade was still looking at him in confusion, like he didn’t believe what was going on. Peter lay down against him again, caressing up and down his side. “Penny for your thoughts, Wade.”

Smirking, Wade pinched his ear. “I’m not that cheap,” he paused, “Peter.”

“What?”

Wade licked his lips. “Just… trying out the name.”

A dribble distracted Peter from what he was going to say, and he groaned. “Ugh, condom’s leaking.” With greatest reluctance he pulled out, and Wade let out a sad sigh.

They got cleaned up in short order, Peter taking care of himself and Wade, Wade taking care of the bed. He’d have some reprieve before he was incapacitated again, thanks to Peter’s thoroughness and... attention to detail.

The grocery and drug delivery came just as Peter was done pulling some different pants on. He paid with cash Wade handed him from hiding behind the door--

“I knew you were lying.”

“Shut up.”

\--and then gave Wade the bottle of emergency suppressants.

Wade stared down at it in his hand, rolling it around between his fingers. “If I take this now, it still won’t kick in until tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I don’t have anything else going on tonight. Let’s eat and screw and watch a movie and screw as much as you need.”

Wade blinked at Peter. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Literally,” Peter grinned. From all he’d experienced and learned of Wade in the past few hours, he realized he wanted to learn and experience more. There was a whole lot more to the man than Peter had thought, and something made him want to give him a chance.

“Nngh.” Wade chewed on his lip, then gave Peter a sexy smirk and quirked an eyebrow. “All right, hot stuff. If you say so.”

Peter grabbed his face and kissed him. The pills fell to the floor, rattling as they rolled over the carpet.

End ?

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
